


to love.

by cottonclown



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor is asexual, Alastor is bad at feelings, Angel is nice in his own way, Author needs sleep, Author uploads at like 3am sorry, Bad Puns, Dad Jokes, Drinking to Cope, Excessive Drinking, F/M, Happy Ending probably.., I’m bad at writing, Reader is an artist, Reader is asexual, Reader likes to dance, Reader likes to sing, Short Chapters, Slow Updates, Songfic, and suicidal tendecies, as expected, don’t expect smut, im bad at angst but I think it’s required, lots of fluff, reader is also kinda bad at feelings, reader is d e p r e s s e d, reader is not really gender constrictive, reader is soft, she likes dresses a lot though but will wear more masculine clothes too, sort of not really, still damned to hell, trigger warning, why does everyone make him a bad bad guy?, yeah this touches on suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21522817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cottonclown/pseuds/cottonclown
Summary: “..to fall in love is not the same as being in love..”After committing suicide, a young woman finds herself at the burning doorsteps of Hell.It was filthy here and wonderful there.So many things were much more colorful, much more interesting here. It was beyond anything she could ever imagine, but the excitement doesn't stop there.What happens when she finds herself at a Hazbin Hotel?Something quite horrid, really, but blissfully so.
Relationships: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Reader
Comments: 23
Kudos: 109





	1. [ to die ]

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: suicide
> 
> This book involves some touchy subjects regarding depression and suicidal tendencies   
> if you or a loved one is thinking about harming themselves please refer to the suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255. remember, if you're to scared to talk, they have a chat option
> 
> for those who already read tags, you can just continue on :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah ha haa  
> hello im cot, a complete and utter mess nice to meet you...  
> my chapters are pretty short and I don’t know if the writing is good but I did what I could haha  
> please enjoy...

_This blows._

Who knew the moments before death were so absolutely...listless.

[Y/n] [L/n], previously an average law-abiding citizen, stood at the top of her workplace building as a criminal. Her crimes were a mass blur, long-gone from memory and not at all nerve-inducing. However, said crimes had nothing to do with what was going to happen now.

She wasn't being frantic, that much was sure. It also wasn't a spur of the moment decision. Everything else up until now was a factor in one shape, way, or form. No one _actually_ does this because of the life they’ve lived.

It’s always themselves.

A chance to be reborn, a wish to quit being a burden, a desire to stop the aching pain of anything and _everything._ The list is endless.

Her eyes were rigid, clear evidence of lack of sleep evident in their ghastly stillness.

Tensely, she licked her cold, dry lips, salty from dried tears and several other liquids. There was fresh fluid as well, small hints of crimson dribbled lightly against her upper lip. She wiped at it hastily.

The young lady dangled her legs over the edge with a sharp intake of breath. The uncertainty in her bones was not one due to fear. No, not at all. Instead, she felt the nervousness of childhood, like at a pool or lake and the calls of friends or family below telling her to get it over with and jump in. 

_Jump._

She shivered.

It was more than surprising how such a disgusting world could appear so beautiful. Light pollution seemed to have ceased for a moment (or maybe it was the height of the building) for [Y/n] could see the marvelous sky above. Milky, yet a smoky shade of blue, freckled with uncountable white specks. But it wasn’t just the sky that seemed so enchanting, no.

The occasional roar of airplanes seemed so much louder, the hum of graveyard shift cars soothing, and the limited, distant sounds of sirens, useless. No matter the sense of these familiar noises, it could do nothing for a concrete decision. 

Her hands trembled, knuckles white from gripping the ledge so tightly. Her fingers would jolt unconsciously, and she felt chill after chill attack her spine. _This is it_ , she supposed.

Her heart hammered painfully in her ribcage, breath rigorous and lungs begging, _screaming_ for air. But it wasn’t like she was winded; breathing was just hard. 

[Y/n] bit her lower lip, the cracks ever-present splitting to draw blood. She bit down harder with a hiss.

Tentatively, the [brunette/blonde/etc] looked down, the world spinning. Her head felt dizzy, eyes blacking in and out of focus, unable to register any other thoughts besides: _high_. 

_We’re high._

**_Too_ ** _high._

Holding her breath, she counted slowly to ten. With a futile curiosity, she looked behind herself, the door to the roof closed and unwelcoming. She looked back and forth. She _hesitated_. 

Had it been midday, or even earlier nighttime, maybe, just _maybe,_ the concrete could have been cracked.

It was perhaps another hour, another century before the trembling of her body finally stopped. The waiting for it all to stop was far too familiar. 

She was used to a constant noise in her head, the static that can make her dissociate. She was used to the apprehensiveness that came with uncertainties. 

_The stress of being yelled at simply because someone was upset and having to hold your head up defiantly, and pridefully_. 

That feeling was harshly common. It only helped solidify her already made decision by giving the ugly reminder: 

There is no room for weakness.

Hesitance means that you are not one-hundred percent sure. There are doubts and even fear. 

Blood in her mouth accompanied by suffocating emotions made her chest swell. But there were no more tears, so she cursed. 

With staggering legs (one wrong step and she’d fall) the [h/c] haired gal swallowed the burning, frozen air. Inhaling dramatically, she pushed her chest out and forced her shoulders back. Leaning forward she cursed. And she cursed again. And again. She cursed again and again and again and _again_. 

Vulgar words weren’t entirely foreign to her mouth, but they always left a bad aftertaste. She grit her teeth, suddenly nauseous.

Now there were tears. Tears from frustration, tears from anger, tears from everything except sadness. The air nipped teasingly at her cheeks, biting and stabbing like a billion sharp needles. Her breaths came out in shudders, gasping and squealing from the racking sobs. 

The coarse words spilled once more from her lips, causing her to slide back down to sit. A final sniffle was muffled by a dirty arm. She was tired; exhausted. It was like a truck was tied to her ankle, dragging her down. There was a deep sigh. 

[Y/n] scooted forward, not looking this time and without a word…

Jumped.

The scream ripped from her throat was almost unreal. A human being would probably never have to hear it in several thousand lifetimes. 

There were two screams, actually, so cut that in half. 

The first scream was loud, long and piercing. _A banshee_ , offered the subconscious. _A Mandrake root._ It seemed to cut off with a strangled, choking noise. Simple. Quick. _Unearthly_.

The second scream was louder, shorter and much more terrified than the first by tenfold. 

It was an unconscious thing, the gal didn’t even notice _she_ was the one screaming. _Shrieking_. Desperate pleas that would be permanently unsaid and unheard. It was so strong that she was sure her vocal cords were bleeding. Her throat was aflame. 

There's no going back.

Now she was scared. And it wasn’t the fact that she’d die that scared her. No siree, it was that there was no regret. At all. In anything. For anything.

Her restless life did not, in fact, flash before her eyes, and every past mistake was not recalled to mind. 

It was comical almost, the midair dance she appeared to do with her arms. 

The ground appeared much too soon, the world lingering. Her eyes widened, nose only centimeters off the ground. Everything stopped, almost _frozen_ in time. Her hair levitated, any stray strand (if hair long enough) was flowing like individual little rivers. A slow-motion so she would _most certainly_ feel an agonizing pain of herself breaking. Even if it was for half a second. Her voice vanished, dying before she did.

And she hit the floor.

The crack resounded throughout the street, a sickening _crackling_ sound. Everything went (and now _was_ ) black. As cliché as that is.

...

But then it wasn’t.

[Y/n] couldn’t open her eyes at first. She just continued to fall, a strained groan pushed down her throat. Landing on new ground with an unfortunate thud, she lay there, stunned for a bit. With a torturous, swift motion, her body seemed to snap back into place. You best believe that _HURT._

There was exasperation in her sigh, as she sat up stiffly. 

Pathetic. She couldn’t even kill herself correctly.

“HEADS UP!”

Something hit her square in the face, grunting. Was a small child thrown at her? Christ. 

Rubbing her now probably bleeding nose, the [brunette/blonde/etc] stumbled to her feet. _Oh dear,_ she thought, watching the floor be coated with nasal blood dripping. Noticing the unfamiliar color of the ground, there was a pop as she looked up. “Oh dear…” she said aloud.

It looked like war.

[Y/n] remained where she was, watching as some egg thing rolled around with a struggle.

When it opened its beady little eyes, she hurriedly darted back as it righted itself. Her curiosity overpowered her self preservation and she helped it stand. It opened a crack of a mouth to speak in a funny voice.

“Who are you?” She didn’t dare answer it. “Well,” it continued, not even waiting for an answer. The question had probably been rhetorical. “Mr.Bossman said to terminate anyone here so!” It shuffled around a bit, searching for something. 

Haha, _terminate_. Hahaha, that’s a funny word.

Oh fuck, terminate.

The egg produced a massive gun, making the lady shrink back in horror (and slight surprise). Self-preservation made a quick comeback, allowing her to act quickly. She tackled and disarmed it, drop-kicking its sorry ass across the battlefield(?) in panic. Her tensed shoulders relaxed, and she breathed. Suddenly overcome with fatigue she sat down. 

**_Clack._ **

Her foot nudged something causing her to lazily peer at whatever it was.

Ah sweet! A gun.

She picked it up, more curious than cautious yet again, feeling its weight in her arms.

“Helluva kick ya got there, babe.”

[Y/n] was yanked over to take cover it seemed, feeling weightless for a split second as she landed roughly between two...bodies?

With a hesitant lift of her head, she froze in an instant. It was like the wind was knocked right out of her...like a bat? 

A bat! An imaginary bat that swung _so_ hard it sent her air for a home run. Ah, but that would mean her ribs were broken too, huh?

[Y/n] quickly snapped out of the slight daze her alarm had caused, looking back and forth (much to her neck’s discomfort).

On her right, a fluffy white and pink arachnoid was grinning excitedly, lighting something. It was on the more feminine side. appearance-wise, but still had a hidden sense of prideful masculinity. Admiring him a bit more, it was then that she felt something weigh down her hands. Looking down (her neck thanked _God_ ) the [brunette/blonde/etc] choked on a gasp, finding a lit up bomb.

It was hot, making her panic and hastily handing it to the expectant hand of her _other_ captor. 

On the left was a cyclops of sorts, much _much_ prettier than the grotesque pictures in Greek mythology. No seriously, this gal ([Y/n] assumed, unable to avoid the breasts she was at eye level with) was very attractive, in an odd, spunky way. With a disappointed sigh, [Y/n] offered the manic laughing lady a mental apology.

_Greek mythology does not do your kind justice._

Once again, a sharp hand smacking her mildly on the shoulder made [Y/n] jolt, finding the source as fast as possible. 

“You’re on our side, for now, newbie. Know howda shoot that?” The sharp canines in the cyclops's mouth stopped any word that would’ve had the balls to escape [Y/n]’s mouth. Only for a moment. Momentarily.

_Yeah, that’s what ‘only for a moment’ means, dumbass._

Her hands found the gun once more, shaking a bit as it was now seated nicely in her arms. _Fuck_ no, was what she was gonna say. However, she tried to rationalize all this. It’s just a dream, right? Maybe she finally took LSD.

_Totally. We’re tripping on_ **_acid_ ** _._

Carefully, with the confidence of a child being forced to go down to a basement, [Y/n] peeked out. 

_I’m gonna die…_

This, strangely, filled her with a newfound determination. Even though the fear of failure nipped at the back of her head, she hoisted the gun up with a grunt, looking at the freckled gal beside her.

Her voice almost shook. “Where do I shoot?” With a yelp trapped in her throat, [Y/n] dodged an incoming egg, wondering why in wherever she was would she work with two completely random, _dangerous-looking_ strangers in what seemed to be war?

_Probably because if I die, I want it to be my fault._

“Edgelord snake guy. Fuckin’ weird hat that’s fifty feet tall.” The ‘X’ in her eye seemed to shine with malevolence, cackling at her vague description. [Y/n] stared at her for only a second too long, nodding slowly and restlessly fiddling to aim. 

_I like snakes._

It took her just a moment to inhale and exhale, the action making a very recent memory to emerge. 

Her hands gripped and ungripped, she wondered if it was really taking millions of years to pull the trigger or if it was just her. 

Finally, an unsure finger rested on the hook, her eyes adjusting quite terribly. If she missed there was no _real_ consequence, but that fact didn’t do much to calm her down. 

[Y/n] bit the inside of her mouth, cringing when she felt a shift in meat and heard a crunch of sorts.

Once again, it took her a while to find the ”edgelord snake guy” and again _why is she doing this?_ The gun might kill him.

Kill. Now that's a friendly word. She couldn't quite remember why, but it’d come soon. The thought of taking a life didn't seem to scare her. She really might kill him.

_No, we won't. He's not real; we're tripping balls._

Seriously, why does it feel like everything’s in slow motion? The cyclops and spider man (there was a small clenching of a fist in victory for that one) didn't rush the [h/c] haired gal, so perhaps it was indeed _just her._

As if the universe itself smacked her upside the head, [Y/n] pulled _hard._ The recoil was excruciatingly intense, sending her flying. With a wince, she forced down a sound of weakness. A sound of _pain._

But _oh fuck_ did that hurt. Arms definitely gonna be sore later. 

A pair of hands caught her, and without an ounce of grace hauled her back. They straightened her up smoothly, setting her back on swaying legs. ”Nice one, toots. But I think I'll take it from here.” Now standing at his full height, the pretty arachnid loomed over [Y/n]. 

She smiled a smile that no one would ever notice even if you held it under a microscope. She liked spiders, too. 

Well, only the big ones. Little ones we're secretive, and she could never see them.

He appeared awkward, she couldn’t tell all things considered, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. With a toothy grin (a golden tooth made her want to smile in turn) he took the gun in her hand and swapped it for a slightly smaller one. “Start small babe.” 

With a fixing of his hair, the tall spider joined _Sugartits_ , though [Y/n] greatly doubted that was her actual name. However, it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing today if it was.

The enemy (dear God he is an awfully big snake) coughed in the distance, velvet smoke coating the air. Not even a glance at the smaller _person_ behind them, the pale spire and one-eyed chick ran without bounds towards him. At least they seemed to be having fun.

[Y/n] remained where she was stationed, beginning to chew on her lip (it wasn’t dry or cracked anymore). She made a scale with her hands, weighing her lack of choices and let out one of the heftiest sighs in existence. With them having a headstart, the gal trailed behind. No matter how much adrenaline was coursing through her right now, it did nothing for the anxiety that came with shooting. 

She simply covered for them, decimating any egg thing that crawled too close or aimed too well. There was a small feeling of pride, severely alien to her, but a tad bit welcome. The uneven terrain did make it uncomfortable to hold the actual weapon, and her wrists hurt a bunch. Regardless, this _dream_ was pretty cool.

“Oh shi-”

\---

_[second point of view]_

  
  
  


“Fuck. Oh fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck.” You winced, continuously cursing quietly under your breath. It was hard not to show it on your face, but you were in _agony._ Know how people say “This ain’t got shit on childbirth”? 

Well, this fucking does, Susan.

Angel Dust and Cherri (as they had both shamelessly introduced themselves) were crouched at your side, both smiling in their own ways. They weren’t mocking smiles or anything, but you couldn’t help glare woefully. 

Against popular belief, they did not just leave you to die a pitiful death, snickering as you lay tiredly (and _painfully_ ) on the dirty floor.

“Holy shit man, you’re nuts.” Cherri laughed with a smidge of respect. She watched closely as a disgustingly deep slash on your side began to bubble, closing in on itself horribly. It moved _so_ slow. With a pause in her laugh, the strawberry blonde leaned in with a more eerie interest. “Woah, you regenerate fast.”

She let out a slight giggle, unease hidden in it. Eventually, the wound was gone with only dried blood as the sole indication that it was even there to begin with. You brushed the fresh layer of skin, a tad bit troubled and a tad much fascinated. “Regenerate…”

The next question was by far the most stupid thing you could possibly ask, but you needed to confirm something. Trying to keep a steady, non-desperate voice, you turned to Cherri as calm as can be. “This isn’t a dream, is it?”

Angel barked a laugh, the cyclops joining in soon after. You felt the hair on your neck stand, ears starting to burn. Laughter. It didn’t seem to be a word you liked. You swallowed, hesitant in a followup to a non-spoken answer. “Am..Am I dead?”

The flamboyant spider wiped a false tear from his eye with the black sclera (you had only now noticed his odd case of heterochromia). He finished up his fit with a satisfied hum, heels clicking against the soot colored (and most likely covered) concrete, searching for something on the filthy floor. With a successful “Aha!” he carefully picked up a piece of thick, reflective glass. He offered it to you, a sly, expectant grin on his face. It made your stomach clench. “What d’you think, toots?”

Against your better judgment, you cautiously took the makeshift mirror in your hands, careful not to nick your fingers. The reflection caused you to stop breathing. For the second time today, it seemed. To your half relief, half disappointment, your appearance had not made drastic changes. 

Once normal [e/c] eyes had slits for their pupils, much like a cat who had been brought outside to bask in the sun. Each iris was more or less in its original state, but an obvious, stark golden ring glowed around it. It wasn’t overpowering, yet there was no way one could miss it. 

The [h/l] [h/c] hair from life retained its [curly/wavy/etc] form, however _now_ if you looked closely it was a bit different. Atop your head were two tufts of a sort, shifting if you were to move but not moving if you willed it to. They were not at all noticeable, which made you wonder if perhaps your hair was simply messy. 

Something that _was_ different, was the two symmetrical long strands of hair that curled onto your face like tiny crescent moons. That was curious.

With great hesitancy, you met the eyes of your companions, both wearing toothy simpers. You looked back at the glass with a grimace, slowly opening your mouth.

Quickly, you snapped your jaw shut.

There was a long pause before you opened it once more, this time with a childlike wonder. All your teeth seemed to be as sharp as razors, fitting perfectly into the triangles if your mouth were to close. The teeth where your former canines had been were a bit longer than the rest. You resisted the urge to bite your lip. Best kill that habit now.

As well as the shard could reflect, the tint didn’t give a clear enough display of your skin. You only hoped that it wasn’t too crazy a color if it did go through an extreme transformation. What you could tell was that (thankfully) you were not covered in fur or scales. That was a huge relief, allowing you to let go of the breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

The relief was short-lived as Angel impatiently groaned, waiting for you to cease with the frantic looking at the glass, yourself and then him or Cherri (who didn’t seem to mind at all). “Ya done?” He asked, though he didn’t expect you to answer.

You stated at him, noticing his first set crossed arms and his other pair at the waist. Hurriedly, you checked your body.

Two arms. Two legs. Two hands. Two feet. Five... _clawed_ fingers (maybe the nails were just scarily sharp) in each hand, and..can’t see your feet. With unsure legs, she stood up. “Done.”

As those words were spoken, and as if on cue, a fancy looking limousine pulled up beside the group with a jolting screech. Angel made a face, clearly annoyed with the vehicle he appeared to recognize. He muttered a curse before pointing at you with a minuscule sneer.

“Sorry hon, yer comin’ with me.” He winked suggestively, picking you up without a care. “See ya ‘round, Sugartits.” You went stiff, looking at Cherri for answers, if she had any.

She only laughed at your situation and waved tauntingly at her guy-buddy who was most certainly in trouble then to her new girl-buddy who would be dragged along to witness it.

“Bye~”

\---

You sat stiffly in the center of the limo, listening to the back and forth bickering of Angel Dust and a ghoulish girl.

_Stop yelling. Stop yelling._ **_Stop_** _yelling._

She was one of the two seated to your right. They were arguing about a hotel or something, truth be told, you couldn’t have been more lost. 

However, upon hearing turf wars you sunk into the seat. You wouldn’t even _attempt_ to look at her. You were 100% sure you had just taken part in one. You couldn’t even say that it was against your will because it wasn’t! It was quite fun.

_But that was only ‘cause I thought it was a dream!_ You defended to no one in particular.

“Yeah yeah, but look. This chick just crashed in today an’ I _helped_ her.” He shot you a quick look, _daring_ you to disagree and throw him under the bus. “Can’t that makeup for it or somethin’?” The effeminate arachnid fixed his hair and pushed up the fluff on his chest. He glanced at you skeptically, on edge due to your silence. 

Before the white-haired demoness (you had quickly learned that not only were you dead but you were in _Hell_ ) could explode, quite literally, you were able to timidly hold your hand up. Angel couldn’t stifle a cackle and gestured from the gal to you, poorly concealing the stupid grin on his face.

Soft vocals made your pinched face relax. The voice was gentle, too sweet for the place you had seen so far. “If you’re going to say it was your fault too, put down your hand.” She smiled so kindly, you faltered easily, doing as she said. She was blonde and rosy-cheeked, reminding you of a porcelain doll.

You liked her immensely.

“I’m Charlie.” You nodded. “I hope Angel didn’t cause you trouble.” You shook your head so fast it snapped (it made the sound, at least). That was disorienting. Charlie had to pause, a bit shocked by the noise before being able to summon a grin. She turned to the demon next to her. “We don’t know if things are over yet. Try to relax, Vaggie. It’ll be okay..” There was an uncertainness in her tone, but her expression was positive.

The rest of the ride was silent, putting your petite (at least compared to those you’ve met) self at ease. You let yourself steal peeks at the doll-like blonde with blood-colored cheeks, it was a good description in your mind and did well to help you memorize her face. Her eyes, big and shining, made contact with yours, causing panic to well up inside you. Quickly, you looked down, ears starting to burn again.

An eternity, or five minutes later, an impressive building came into clear view. It was taller than any skyscraper-

_High._

you had ever seen and harshly bringing back some recent-

_Too high._

memories. You shook your head roughly, the vibration of cracks popping in your ears. That’s...right. You were dead. It was a pretty hard pill to swallow.

The limousine came to a halt, allowing the passengers to file out. Angel and Vaggie had already sauntered into the building, but Charlie stayed behind, beckoning you over. Happy to be in her presence, you walked over. Her soft features seemed to be concerned. “Are..you okay? You’ve been,” she made a funny face as she hardened her expression and hunched her shoulders, unable to put it in words. At first, you thought that she was frustrated, but the pressure between your brows was enough to make you break out in an embarrassed blush.

She was mirroring you.

“Ah-well yeah. It’s just,” you shuffled your legs, self-conscious. Awkwardly, you used your hands to present, refusing to stutter (Lord how you _hated_ when you caught yourself stuttering). “I know I’m dead.” It was better to be matter a fact. Beating around the bush could lead to misunderstandings. "This is..This is _Hell_ and well, uh..I don’t look exactly how I used to.” And that was it.

Charlie waited to see if you would continue, and couldn’t hide the sour turn of look when she realized that was it. That can’t be good. “Do you remember how you died?”

_Jumped._

You nodded, face collected. “I do.” Charlie’s mouth moved to speak, making you add quickly. “But I would prefer not to say.” She respected that.

“Oh uh, well you are free to join us here! Welcome to the Happy Hotel,” she twirled to throw her arms out as if shooting a commercial. With a small smile, the blonde looked at you earnestly. You looked to the side, averting your gaze in thought then turned back to her.

“Happy Hotel?” You bit.

Charlie responded ecstatically. “Yep! A project of mine to rehabilitate sinners! I want to get all the demons and whatnot up into Heaven.” She rambled on, chatting your ear off. You, in turn, were beginning to be worn out. It was hard to keep up with such a bright, energetic person. Still, you listened closely, insightful of subtle things she would mention. “Would you be interested in becoming a patient? Not that you look sinful!” Some stuff was not-so-subtle.

You nodded.

At long last, Charlie yielded, having updated you all the way up to her current _failure_. Her words, not yours. That sunny aura of hers turned somber in a second, seeming to remember something and she excused herself to make a call. “Sorry about that. You’re just, super easy to talk to. I feel like we’ve known each other forever.” She let out a nervous giggle, exhaling in a relieved manner when you gave yet another nod.

With her staying out it seemed, you went inside. Vaggie was slouched across a worn-out sofa, rubbing her temple with exasperated breathing. Angel was sitting elsewhere, sucking provocatively on a popsicle. An uncomfortable, but amused smile threatened to appear on your face. 

Having already spoken to the spider today, you decided to initiate conversation with the intimidating Vaggie. Normally, you wouldn’t speak unless spoken to, but you were curious at the moment. Quietly, you walked over.

Vaggie had her eyes closed (or eye; you noticed there was a big ‘X’ hovering over the left side of her face), and when she opened them, her guard was up lightning fast. “What do you want?” Although it came out as a spat, she was far too tired to lace her words with venom. You grounded your feet which both threatened to jump back. 

“Can I ask you a question?” 

Her energy was hostile, but difficult people were no match for rock bottom self-esteem!

You stayed at a distance, off to the side and waited patiently. She groaned, forcing herself to sit up and narrow her eyes. “Depends what it is.”

A hint of cooperation, this is good. “Can you tell me about Hell?” The urge to gnaw on your thumbnail was strong, as was that itching need to chew on your lip. Both habits were shoved out of your mind. Vaggie simply, scoffed, not at you, at the question.

Sort of you.

“What is there to know? We all did shit to get us damned, everyone down here is a FUCKING dick who’s out for themselves and once a year sinners are purged.” Well, that’s one way to put it. With a huff, she went back to slouching, this time going lower. The frown on her face was so deep, it _had_ to hurt. 

Before you could ask her to go in-depth, there was a knock at the door. A normal knock to you, but an odd knock for everyone else. You looked at the demon on the couch, once more closing her eyes.

Looks like you’re on door duty.

You walked back down the hall, assuming that perhaps Charlie had locked herself out (or maybe you did, you were unsure) and were ready to apologize. However, Charlie was standing at the closed entrance with a confused look on her face. You said nothing as she opened the door, revealing a tall, red figure. There was a shrill cut, a string instrument surely, that made you cringe internally, though externally there was only a twitch of an eye.

The sound of lights being switched on made your neck crane up in unison with Charlie’s, meeting the headlights of this unexpected guest. With an enthusiastic start, he swished to the side. “HELL-”

**_SLAM!_ **

She opened it again.

“-O.”

**_SLAM!_ **

You jumped as the door was flung shut yet again, eyes wide at the blonde who was gripping the handle. With an expression similar to your (but for a different reason), she turned to call out into the foyer. “Hey, Vaggie?”

The response came from a disgruntled gal. “What?” Charlie seemed rigid with shock, voice not too far from cracking.

“The Radio Demon is at the door.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much if you actually read to the end! I sincerely apologize for any grammatical errors or typos, I can get impatient real fast when it comes to writing..  
> sorry we didn't get to see Al this chapter but we'll get to him soon enough!
> 
> I'm a bit embarrassed with posting this since my writing is a big ol' mess. I dunno if I captured each character's essence? I hope I did.  
> Vaggie, Angel, Charlie, Cherri and even the mf Egg Boi... I have no idea if I did anything right. 
> 
> That being said...I hope you enjoyed!  
> じゃあね~!


	2. [ to experience the pilot ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is going to be brutally fast-paced, because like I dumbass I thought "oh yes, I'm DEFINITELY going to be able to rewrite the pilot without getting tired".
> 
> In conclusion, there is going to be several time skips (the pilot is basically being summed up in a brief, quick manner)  
> It will probably only be approx. 1000 words so..yeah it's fast.
> 
> But it continues!
> 
> sorry this chapter took *looks a calendar*  
> THREE MONTHS to update ;v;
> 
> I was feeling quite uninspired since I didn't like how my original plot was moving.  
> And rereading the first chapter was not helping at all! I am so sorry I made you guys live through that ;; I found a lot of typos and just..?? The writing is wack.
> 
> I hope this chapter will turn out better.  
> please enjoy!
> 
> edit: 3/11/20  
> the writing did not get better  
> also ceo of not proof reading gang gang

_[second point of view]_

_  
_

-

Charlie did end up opening the door, whether it was a dumb move or a kind move, you were uncertain.

“May I speak now?”

It was not a normal voice (if you could consider _anything_ at the moment normal), by any means. It distorted oddly. Like speaking through a voice modulator or filter. Grainy. But still chipper nonetheless.

You took in the appearance before you, noticing this man (demon?) was definitely giving red a good name. It looked really nice on him. A suit, a bowtie, and a coat.

_I don’t think I’ll be able to wear red ever again._

Atop his head were two ear-shaped tufts and oh lord you _really_ want to touch them. Your hands immediately came together, fidgeting to avoid actually trying to reach this man’s ( Seriously, was it demon’s? Thing’s? Thing sounds mean..) head. There was no hope for that anyway.

He was tall.

Vaggie was up from her seat in an instant. Out of your peripherals, you saw her approach quickly as this well-groomed _man_ pushed open the door and stepped inside. You were unsure if Charlie had given him permission to enter.

“Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you, sweetheart! Quite a pleasure!” He spoke a dozen words per second, making sure his presence was known. It was a bit frightening, you would admit, but his flighty figure tickled you. Just watching him made you unbearably giddy. Oh, look at that.

_Discomfort._

\---

As Vaggie had so _kindly_ explained, you were in the presence of one of the most evil, cruelest, _powerful_ entities in Hell. If that wasn’t enough to give you the jitters, well...

_I mean, it doesn’t beat dying._

The ghoulish demon went on an expositional rant, summarizing _The Legend of The Radio Demon_ (Angel had dubbed it so and you had nodded thoughtfully, so Vaggie decided ‘screw you both’).

The more you observed, the more it was apparent that...Alastor looked kind of funny. Not in a bad way or anything, he just moved _a lot._ It troubled you some, but you weren’t about to tell him.

You didn’t actually want to speak with him.

\---

  
  


It wasn’t the clearest moment.

Everyone had been just as confused as you were. Right now, in all honesty, you were still confused.

You were trying not to stare at the two new folks added to this odd cast of degenerates.

There was a tiny little creature called Nifty who was clad in sunset colors and a bursting ball of energy. If you tried to follow her with your eyes, you became disoriented. She made you feel awfully dizzy.

She was currently attempting to clean the unfortunate mess this hotel was, running back and forth to a supply closet of sorts. You had tried to help, but she just ran between your legs while happily chirping, “No no no! Not now.” 

It was a bit confusing, but it had the implication that perhaps you could help her later. 

You had also politely asked her not to run between your legs anymore. As small as she looked for everyone else, Nifty was around your chest. Of course, with her agile little body, scurrying under you was easy enough, but it also meant you would fall over. It’s already happened twice.

The first time, she caught you and stood you back up. The second, she huffed.

“Well don’t just stand there silly!” Is what she said. There was no warning as she picked you up like you were a toy that was getting in the way of clean-up, running over to the bar and sitting you down.

At the bar, you were unfortunate enough to meet Husk. Husker affectionately. He was wonderful to look at for he reminded you much of your own cat Upstairs. You hoped they were in good hands.

There was a sudden stinging sensation on your face and it was only then that you realized Husk was _quite literally_ burning holes into it. 

_Caught staring yet again, I see._

You saw that he had a green bottle of booze (it was an assumption, that’s what the label said), but had stopped drinking the moment he felt eyes on him. Your eyes. You had a violent stare.

“The fuck you lookin’ at, kid?” 

You felt the familiar tug at your neck, the little voice in your head whispering to turn away. 

Instead of doing so, because he _really did_ remind you of your cat, you simply covered your mouth, lest you smile. “At you, sir.” You tried mimicking his gruff, scratchy voice. It irritated your throat.

The moment felt childish, you really didn’t know what came over you, but hey. Doesn’t everyone talk to cats in funny voices?

Husk looked taken aback as if he had never expected an answer. He hadn’t really, so it made it the more surprising. Before he could say another smartass remark (or ignore you completely), _he_ spoke. Both you and Husk turned to watch Charlie squeal in delight as an orchestra burst to life.

You were going to choke, because _no he wouldn’t._ Alastor, _The Radio Demon_ , was not about to break into song. He was not going to _sing_.

\---

Absolutely dumbfounded, you stared blankly at the scarce debris left behind. Your hands found each other, clasping together nervously.

By now everyone had disappeared inside with the promise of Jumbalaya.

You were alone.

The smoke wasn’t at all heavy, puffing out fluffy red, velvet, and murky wine-grey clouds. Shimmering ash had piled around the mess, sparkling in the odd lack of sun. It was lovely in a grim sort of way.

Before you could even process it, little crystal-like droplets fell to the dirty floor, both raising alarm and interest. Judging by the wetness of your cheeks and upper lip, it was dual crying and bleeding.

Your body didn’t shake with sobs, nor did your heart ache with grief. Your body was just letting out a severely delayed reaction. Because it was tired. You were tired.

And you were dead.

This was just one of the times you understood nothing. It was for a second, only a second, but you forgot your name and your age and yourself.

You understood a lot of things, sure. Some more than others: 

People bleed when their skin breaks. They scream based on instinct. People cry when overcome with emotion. They feel pain if their system allows it. They live.

They die.

The tears just fell from your ducts. There was no sadness in your heart, no loss in your soul and no thoughts in your mind. Unable to keep standing there any longer, you contemplated sitting down.

_So many new things. Such little time._

The body needs rest after a big change. But you were never one for caring for it. Let it be battered and bruised, you would not rest until it physically gave up.

Yeah, you sat down.

To distract from the smothering pressure on your chest, as well as the suffocating sensation in your throat, you thought about all the frenzied things that had occurred. So many things have occurred.

Yes, you’re dead. We’ve established that no matter how hard it is to believe and/or accept.

We have met demons unless this is God or Satan playing a mean prank on you. For all you know, this is a fever dream and you’ll wake up just like in the movies-

Only this wasn’t a movie. This was real life or death, apparently, and Charlie, Vaggie, Angel and Cherri and.. _what was his name_ were all real. Probably.

Alright, so maybe reviewing the events of the day was a bad idea, but oh how you were full of them. You held your head, which was now throbbing with a horrid migraine. You wiped your face, probably smearing any soot that had dirtied your hands against it. The clicking up heels didn’t reach your ears, for your thoughts were just too loud.

“What do we have here? Are you not part of that mess of staff for this establishment?” That static filled the air, teetering on the edge of popping your ears and shattering your eardrums. With the same, vacant expression that never seemed to want to leave your face no matter how hard you tried, you looked up to him.

Big mistake, he was just as tall as Angel (possibly the slightest bit shorter). That’s a no-no for your neck.

You stood up, wiping your hands on your pants and using a sleeve to wipe your grubby face. Didn’t work, made it worse actually. You shook your head at him.

Alastor (that was his name!) looked like he was going to faint, his smile twitching and the painful record scratch stabbing your ears. Your face became pinched as you fought the urge to cringe. He took a second to compose himself because he’s seen some shit (guts and messy mutilations, much of which he has done himself), but dear _God_ you were a mess.

He fetched a handkerchief out of thin, hellish air, and proceeded to clean the filthiness of your face. “It’s one thing to admire my work, it’s different to put your face to it. You look like a child from before the Factory Act was passed!” Laugh track. 

He treated you with little care, tossing and moving your head this way and that. His claws, dangerously sharp, nicked your cheeks several times over. “I don’t suppose you’re one of the Princess’s.. _patients_?” Such distaste in his mouth. 

You tried shaking your head, but he had a firm grip on your chin. Alastor wanted you to talk, he did not like feeling like he was talking to a wall. “No.” It was a soft voice, a bit hoarse from exhaustion and lack of hydration. When was the last time you ate?

That seemed to satisfy him, but then again, it didn’t. “You’re not staff,” he let go of you to count off his fingers. “You’re not a patient.” He looked at you once more, making sure he had all this correct. You nodded. “What are you then?” He stood up straight, looking down at your pitiful, empty person.

You thought about how to answer, thinking about a serious answer, but alas, you were simply too tired. So, instead of a _serious answer_ , you looked him dead in the eyes and replied:

“I’m dead.”

Alastor is not so easily shocked, you see. He’s seen it all! Yet here is this inadequate, demure demon who has already almost knocked him over with surprise simply by existing. He blew out some air, trying to _hold back_ his laughter. Him!

In the end, the laughing track guffawed in harmony with him, who threw his head back because he was extra like that. When he was done, he wiped a tear from his eye, shaking his head incredulously.

“My my..what’s your name, sweetheart?”

You told him.

“Is it now? I thought it was _Dead_!” Alastor laughed at his little joke and you suddenly felt the corners of your mouth perk. Oh no. You’re ultimate weakness…

_Dad jokes._

“Come along then, _Dead_ , I’m sure her Highness will find you a nice storage room to clean out or,” He grabbed your shoulder (or whatever he could reach without bending down) and pulled you along. He shook you like a goddamn maraca, happy to explain the awful jobs you could end up with. “Better yet, how does the janitorial area sound to you?”

Spinning you around, he held you up as if you were his (unfortunately) beloved pet, legs dangling as you were questioned. You tried to shrug, but thanks to the new position, you couldn’t.

“I don’t-”

“You don’t seem at all good for greeting customers! Look at the mess I found you in! I haven’t even-” After cutting you off, he cut himself off, then snapped his neck toward you.

Oh my, that definitely cracked.

“Smile, my dear! You don’t seem too enthusiastic.”

You wanted to cry again, but because holy crap this man had way too much energy! You couldn’t keep up. But, that stupid little hope that he’d leave you alone after all this was way too persuasive. 

It took all your strength, or rather, what was left of it to force your quivering lips into a smile. When that didn’t work, you manually tried pushing some sort of happy expression onto your features. All failed. You looked at Alastor as if he could help.

No one would ever, _EVER_ know about the day The Radio Demon was surprised not once, not twice, but THREE TIMES by an insignificant demon. A demon in general. Someone! 

He didn’t know if you were joking or not, but upon concluding that you could not in fact _smile_ of all things? Alastor put you down, giving your cheek a good pull because you deserved it. How dare you surprise him. He wasn’t fond of surprises.

You rubbed your face, frowning.

“They’re expecting us, pet, come along now!” Like a lazy dog and it’s energetic owner, both you and Alastor made your way through the hole in the wall. “I made Jambalaya, I don’t know if you heard but my mother taught me this recipe. It was to die for! In fact-”

He kept talking and talking and talking. And _talking_.

You wanted to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading til the end! like..really qwq  
> see you next time! hopefully not three more months
> 
> じゃあね~!


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